


Playing With Matches

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: Crossing Lines
Genre: A Fool, A Secretly Romantic Moron, And Demanded to be Written, Bondage, But This Just Grabbed Hold of Me, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Ellie? Innocent? Fake News, F/M, Get It Ellie, I Don't Even Ship It Really, I don't even know guys, Marco Constante is an Idiot, Marco is Going to Confession First Thing Tomorrow Morning, Mention of Pretty Much Every Kink Under the Sun, Minor Casefic Aspect, Orgasm Delay, Public Sex, Satan Can Just Put This on My Tab, Sub!Ellie, This Put My Muse in a Headlock and Wouldn't Let Go for Days, Unexpected Soft Moments, dom!marco, i'll be honest, oh my god what have i done, undercover sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 19:37:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17689574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: Ellie's been under the impression that Marco Constante doesn't like her.It's a mistaken impression.





	Playing With Matches

_She’s in his lap, straddling him, and the vibrations feel so good. She’s not even thrusting properly, just writhing, helpless, her arms tied behind her back with—with—_

_Red, yes, with pretty red silk all wrapped around her wrists, and she can feel the matching red collar snug around her throat, soft fur against her skin, red leather against her pale throat and he’ll push the vibrator against her clit a little more, his large hands on her hips…_

_No not her hips, the backs of her thighs, and she’s getting her skin all slick and his jeans too because he’s still fully clothed while she’s naked, naked and writhing on his lap…_

_“You look so pretty like this,” he tells her, his voice all dark and low. “Come on and be a good girl for me, just a little longer.”_

_“I can’t,” she begs. “Please, sir, please—”_

_Will he like being called that? She thinks he will. He seems to like it when people listen to him, do as he says, Carine being one of the few exceptions._

_“Please…”_

_“Not until I say so,” he growls, and she just about screams because she wants to come so very badly but she has to be good, she has to be good and wait…_

“Ellie.”

For a wild second she thinks her daydream has become a reality, because of who’s talking and how they’re growling her name.

Then she realizes Marco is standing in the doorway, staring at her.

Come to think of it, Sebastian’s staring at her too.

Ellie carefully adjusts her legs in the chair while trying to make it look like she’s doing no such thing. She feels like she might jump out of her skin. “Yes?”

“With me.” Marco turns and walks away then, expecting her to follow.

Which she does, to her own annoyance, scuttling after him. She ignores Sebastian’s half-amused, half-worried look that he sends after her. Seb has quickly become her closest friend in the ICC and after spending so much time around her he’s clearly picked up on her horribly inappropriate thoughts regarding her… whatever Marco is. He’s not officially her superior but he might as well be, but mentor sounds far too parental and chummy for whatever they are.

It’s a strange place they’re hovering in, where he has her tail him on assignments and drops rare compliments in a gruff, tight voice, rarely while making eye contact, but also gives Carine a look bordering on mutiny whenever Carine insists he take Ellie anywhere.

She hates it, like an itch under her skin that she can’t quite reach. If he hated her, that would be one thing. But he doesn’t, or at least she thinks he doesn’t. Marco does hate Luke, so she knows what that looks like coming from Marco. He doesn’t quite like her though, either, or at least not the way he likes Sebastian and Arabella.

If nothing else, she wants to know where she stands with him. It would make it easier to compartmentalize her own wildly inappropriate and extremely erotic fantasies about him.

Marco holds the door to the conference room open for her, and presses a hand to the small of her back to guide her through as she enters. Her pulse leaps and she nearly freezes before forcing herself to continue.

“Ah, here we are.” Carine smiles. Luke and Arabella are also present, looking bored. “So, as Luke and Arabella have found, we figured out where they’re taking the girls from.”

Various young women, all blonde, all rather innocent looking, have been showing up around the city in various states of horrible mutilation. It became an ICC matter when the original local investigative team found similar cases stretching in a trail all the way back to Budapest, where the women would be found floating in the Danube.

“It seems that they’re all being taken from this club,” Carine goes on, pointing at the picture that’s up on the screen.

“Gets rather wild there on the weekends,” Luke says.

“We need to send someone in undercover to serve as…”

“As bait.” Marco’s voice is sharp, disapproving, interrupting Carine in a way he rarely does.

Ellie understands immediately. Carine is blonde but too old and nobody would mistake her for a naïve woman. And Ellie’s well aware that she looks rather… cherubic. Her looks have gotten her underestimated many a time over the years.

“I see,” she says. “And so you’d like me to go in?”

“We’d be in a surveillance van the entire time,” Carine tells her. “You’d have an earpiece on, perhaps even a camera. You wouldn’t be alone.”

“I assume you’d have a team move in the moment I’m grabbed.”

“Yes,” Marco growls. It probably should make her jumpy, how on edge he is, but instead it makes her feel safer. She knows, somehow, that it’s for her benefit, his current simmering anger.

“We would have you go in, get yourself drunk—not really of course—then get somewhere vulnerable. When the perp goes in to get you, we’ll move in.”

“Classic honeypot,” Luke says.

“I think it’s better if there’s someone in the club with her,” Marco interjects. “You can’t control what other random people might do and she has to act drunk but we can’t have her grabbing random strangers. If she has a partner, they can help her. And watch her back.”

Carine nods. “Fair enough. Luke…”

“I want Marco,” Ellie blurts out.

The others all stare at her and Ellie can feel, she can very much feel the flush working its way across her cheeks.

“Marco’s been my partner more than Luke,” Ellie says, proud that she manages to not stammer once. “I’d feel safer with him.”

Carine looks at Marco.

Ellie feels his hand at the small of her back again and tries desperately not to lean into it. “I’m fine with that,” Marco says.

The word _fine_ comes out of his mouth acidic, the edges eaten away, and Ellie wants to remark that she’s never heard someone use the word ‘fine’ and manage to actually mean _I would rather have rusty nails shoved underneath my fingernails_ , but she keeps her mouth shut.

She really does trust Marco, far more than Luke. Luke has yet to prove himself truly loyal to anyone, and she knows that Marco will never let harm come to one of his teammates. He’s taciturn at best but he’s there when you need a backup.

The next few days she’s focused on getting set up, and she actually doesn’t see Marco much before the evening of. The actual team, led by Carine, will be in one van next door to Sebastian with all of his tech gear because apparently trying to cram Sebastian’s required tech gear into a van along with a bunch of cops is just asking for too much.

It gives Ellie a bit of respite, knowing that only Sebastian will hear whatever nonsense she has to get up to in the club to act drunk enough to be a target. She’s stopped by the club a few times to establish herself, only having a little bit, bringing a different friend with her each time (all women, all members of the ICC tech crew). If the target uses this as his hunting ground, which they think he does, then he’ll have picked up on her.

And now is the night when she’ll be vulnerable enough that he’ll try and grab her.

Ellie’s pulse spikes at the thought and not in a fun way, thrumming in her wrists, like the humming of an electric bomb as it counts down. She has to force herself to breathe as Sebastian shows her how he’s hijacked the club’s surveillance cameras and helps her put the earpiece snugly inside her ear.

“You all right?” he asks.

She nods. She and Marco can’t go in together, obviously. He’ll approach her at the bar. “Just a little nervous.” The things this suspect has done to those women…

“Marco’s the best. He won’t let you get hurt, even if that means the subject gets away or we have to pull the plug. Your safety’s more important.” Sebastian pats her on the shoulder, and Ellie forces herself to breathe again.

She can do this.

“Right. I’ll head in.”

Sebastian is relaying everything he sees and hears to Carine to give them the go, so she doesn’t get any words of encouragement from her boss but she can well imagine Carine’s soft nod as she gets out of the van and walks down the block to the club.

It’s pulsing inside, like a beating heart, everyone jostling up against each other. Ellie’s never been a fan of these places. Not that she’s introverted or hasn’t had a rebellious streak. She just prefers to let that all out in other ways. There’s a discreet members-only club in London that she frequented, where the receptionist knew her name and NDAs had to be signed.

She makes her way through, dancing along the way, and gets to the bar where she signals for a shot. The bartender’s been thoroughly checked and cleared and she’s in on it—the shots she passes to Ellie are water.

Ellie downs about five, goes out and dances some more, makes herself look loose-limbed and wild, takes her hair down, whoops, jumps up and down, then goes back to the bar.

Almost immediately a large hand braces itself on the bar top next to her. She can feel the heat of him even before Marco speaks quietly in her ear. “You good?”

She turns her face just a little, enough for it to look like she’s checking him out. She is checking him out, as a matter of fact, because she can’t help it. She’s weak and he’s in dark jeans that have no business fitting that tightly, his usual dark blue shirt, and that damn black leather jacket.

He’s ditched the aviators, at least.

“Fine,” she whispers back.

“Are you ready?”

She nods. As ready as she’ll ever be to make out with the coworker (the _coworker_ ) she has a stupid girlish crush on and daydreams about having do very, very terrible things to her and pretend that said making out was just for show.

Marco’s worked plenty of undercover jobs, as the poker gig showed. She can almost believe the easy smirk on his face, the one that says he knows exactly what she wants from him. She can almost believe the hand that wraps around to curl at her hip, his thumb stroking just under the hem of her shirt.

She can almost believe him when he turns her, gets his other hand high up on her thigh, warm and possessive, and brushes his lips against hers.

Fuck, she’s on fire, it’s like he threw a match at an open bucket of kerosene. She wants his hand to slide higher, she wants him to tell her to spread her legs like a good girl…

“We’ll head to the hallway,” Marco whispers. Ellie nods. There’s a hallway at the back that has bathrooms but also leads out to the alley where people smoke. That’s where she’ll stumble out, once Marco peels off from her.

She’s going to get off the barstool and take his wrist, tug him along, but Marco apparently has a very, very different idea because one second his hands are off her body and the next she’s—holy shit she’s being lifted up and she has to wrap her legs around him or she’ll look like a weird rag doll and oh God she knew he was strong but—

“Too easy to get separated,” Marco tells her, as he literally carries her through the club.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re dramatic?” Ellie shoots back.

Marco chuckles, the sound sliding down her spine, and she’s not sure she’s ever made him laugh before. Maybe it’s just a part of the act but if only he’d relax a little bit around her the rest of the time maybe she wouldn’t jump like a startled rabbit every time he talks to her.

He navigates them to the hallway, setting her down. “What?”

Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face. “Nothing.”

“Something.” Marco’s hands are at her hips and wow, he’s tall, he’s very tall and it’s never been more evident than now when he’s got her pinned to the wall and his mouth is barely an inch from her neck as he does a rather good show of pretending he’s kissing along it.

Ellie tips her head back and gives a small moan, for the benefit of the drunk people queuing up outside the women’s restroom, and Marco jolts a little and then she really does feel his mouth on her neck, sucking slightly, kissing her, and she goes from turned on to _well, I can never wear these panties again_.

She has no idea why he’s doing it for real now but he scrapes his teeth along her skin and kisses just under her jaw and sucks at where her pulse thrums and she never, ever wants him to stop. Her nails dig into the leather of his jacket and she lets out another embarrassing moan, this one real, and then she’s shoved up and Marco’s worked his knee in between her thighs, keeping her balanced so that now they’re almost the same height.

Holy mother of God.

“Sorry,” he whispers—no, pants, he’s out of breath—against her neck and then he’s pulling back, his hands rubbing up and down her shoulders, her arms, like she’s cold and going to die of hypothermia.

“You don’t have to apologize.” She’d much rather he hauled her up a little more and started kissing his way south.

She tugs on his jacket a little as she spots someone headed their way. Marco notices, his gaze flicking to the side before he swoops in and kisses her.

Her stomach melts. She gets a hand in his hair, the other one still curled around the lapel of his jacket, and her hips twist instinctively of their own accord and—and _oh_. Oh now that’s she’s got that spark she’s not stopping, she’s not stopping for anything, his tongue is fucking in and out of her mouth and his thigh is warm and firm and wide and she’s literally straddling it and just a few—oh God just a few more thrusts of her hips and she might actually—she might really—

Marco pulls back, swearing viciously in Italian. His hands grab her hips and force her to be still. “Ellie. Ellie _stop_.”

She does, shuddering to a halt, because the command in his voice there is impossible for her to fight against (specifically, it’s impossible because she wants to obey, wants to do as he says).

“Are you all right?” Marco emphasizes each word. “Do you want to call this off?”

It’s not that she wants to call it off. It’s that she has him touching her, holding her up against a wall, kissing her, she’s fucking herself on his thigh and she wants even more.

But she doesn’t know how to even begin explaining all of that without sounding… without ruining everything. Because Marco’s just playing a part. Marco doesn’t actually want her, either as a lover or as a partner.

Marco gives a small sigh, then she hears, “Sebastian can you cut the feed.”

In her ear—Marco must hear it too—comes the surprised, “What?”

“I need to give Ellie a pep talk, and I’d like it to be private. I know you’re recording all this for the report, could you just cut the damn feed?”

There’s a pause. “This goes against protocol.”

Ellie swallows. “Please?” she manages to whisper.

There’s another pause, even longer, then…

“Two minutes. That’s all I can give you.” She can see Sebastian in her mind’s eye smacking his forehead even if she can’t hear it.

“Great.”

Marco cups her cheek in his hand. “Ellie, hey, look at me.”

She does, she has to, she wants to.

“I’m not going to say there’s nothing to be afraid of. I won’t lie to you like that. But whatever happens, he won’t take you away.”

That’s what this man does, he drugs the women and takes them, somewhere, the place where he does horrible things to them and like a bucket of cold water it hits her that they really do have a purpose here, she’s on a mission, a mission against a psychopath and just because all those so-called ‘fascinating’ serial killers are just boring women-hating idiots that doesn’t make them any less dangerous when you’re the one facing them…

Marco’s thumb is swiping back and forth over her cheek. “Ellie, stay with me, hey, stay with me.”

She blinks, focuses in on him. Marco nods. “There we go. Hey. Do you trust me?”

He asks it like he thinks she might say no. “Of course.”

“I’ll be right there. I won’t let him take you away.” He pauses, tongue darting out to wet his lip in that annoying way he does, the way everything he does distracts her. “Show me you heard that.”

She nods.

“Good.” People are starting to glance at them, since having a heart to heart is not typical club behavior, and she quickly darts forward, kissing him again, feeling his stubble scraping across her mouth.

Marco gives a surprised grunt and then grabs her wrists, pinning her to the wall properly. She shivers because that just might be the hottest thing she’s ever experienced. “Ellie…”

His voice is thick with warning, and she realizes just how dark his eyes have become, realizes she can feel something against her thigh that she highly doubts is a gun. She dares to roll her hips against his thigh again, a small, needy sound escaping her at the rough denim and firm pressure against her clit, her toes curling a little.

She sees the hunger on his face, written in undeniable neon ink, and wonders…

She tries to break his hold on her wrist. Marco tightens his grip. She whines.

“What are you doing.” Marco sounds like she’s stabbed him. “Ellie, what… stop playing with fire.”

“You want me to be good?” she dares him.

The growl Marco lets out at that nearly sends her over the edge. “Is this a game to you?”

Tumblers are clicking into place in her mind. Marco’s protectiveness, his distance, the way he either carefully doesn’t touch her or touches her with a familiarity that has her knees going weak, the way he orders her around, the way he hardly looks her in the eye—

“No,” she hisses. “It’s not. I’m serious.”

“We’re on a mission.”

“And if I didn’t ask you now you’d find a way to avoid it until the end of time.” She tries again to break the hold he has on her wrists, arching, but all it does is press her up against him and the _noise_ Marco makes at that.

“This is a very bad idea,” Marco informs her, like she’s suggested they go do parkour on the top of the ICC building. “Very bad, Ellie—”

“I thought you hated me,” she admits with a laugh. “And I was doing everything I could to be good for you, I want to be good for you, I like doing what you tell me…”

Marco looks like she’s put a glass of water in front of him while he’s dying of thirst and is telling him he can’t drink it. “You’re scared, you’re looking for whatever will represent safety to you, and I get that…”

“I’m not scared!” she hisses. It’s a lie but her fear about this mission is also not the point. “I’m nervous, I’m—this, right here, this is real for me and it’s throwing me off, that’s what it is, you’re messing with my head because you’re doing what I—what I want you to do to me.”

Marco looks at her for a long moment. “Do you even know what it is you’re asking for?”

Ellie raises an eyebrow. “I could show you my membership to a certain club in London, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m not some lost little lamb.”

Marco’s chest is heaving with all the things he’s not saying, all the shit he’s keeping back. “So if I told you…” He looks away and she can practically read the _oh God I’m going to Hell for this_ crossing through his mind. He looks back at her. “If I told you, be a good girl and get the edge off for me, would you do it?”

She shudders, hardly believing this is real, and rolls her hips again. “Ye-es.” Her voice breaks on the word.

Marco looks almost drunk. He’s staring at her, taking all of her in, his gaze roaming over her like he’s not quite sure if he’s hallucinating or not. Then he leans in, his mouth at her ear again, his lips brushing over the curve of it. “You’re a little greedy, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” They’re dancing on the edge, here, they have a mission to finish, but if the mark’s latched onto Ellie, he’ll be patient enough to wait a few more minutes until she’s finished with Marco.

Or at least, that’s what she’s hoping. Coherent thought is a little difficult right now.

He lets go of her wrists only for his arm to snake around her waist, hauling her to him. Ellie’s hands fly to his shoulders, trying for balance. “We have about thirty seconds.” Marco’s voice is right in her ear and she swears it’s sliding right down between her legs. “Before Sebastian turns the feed back on.”

His other hand tangles in the hair at the back of her head. “Think you can be good and finish in that time?”

She’s so fucking close already, why the hell not. And she really does like doing what he tells her. “Yes.”

Marco kisses her, and oh, he was holding back before. His thigh shifts and oh, _fuck_ , and she suddenly realizes why his hand is at the back of her head, it’s to cushion and take the brunt of the contact as she grinds on his thigh and she hits against the wall a few times. She’s so close, so very close, biting Marco’s lip as a whine escapes her and her legs shudder and her toes curl—

Ohhhhh _God_.

Ellie’s panting, she can feel sweat sliding down her back, as there’s static in her ear and Sebastian says, “You guys ready?”

She takes a gulping breath. Words aren’t really there at the moment.

“We’re good,” Marco answers. He sounds like he’s gargled glass. “I’m going to head for the bathrooms, Ellie will go out into the alley.”

He gently sets her down, catches his hands on her hips as she sways, dizzy. She wants to demand that they talk more later, that she explain everything, that they set ground rules because that was playing fast and loose and she wants to do this again… but Marco gives her a kiss on the cheek, one that’s decidedly fond, and then he’s swaggering (because Marco never simply walks anywhere, the dramatic bastard) into the men’s restroom and Ellie’s stumbling on shaky legs out through the hallway to the back door and out into the alley.

She doesn’t have to fake the way her vision blurs and she has to grab onto the wall. She can feel how slick her thighs are underneath her dress, her underwear wet and clinging. She doesn’t know what exactly it is they’ve started, but she wants more of it very much so and as soon as possible.

Her breathing is choppy and loud, which is why it takes her a moment to realize someone’s walking up to her.

Her heartrate kicks into overdrive.

“You all right, miss?” A hand on her shoulder.

“Fine.”

“Your boyfriend’s ditched you?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Too bad for him, then. Can I help you?”

She starts to turn and look up, feels the prick of the needle—and despite everything, despite all her training and preparing for this a scream bubbles up from her throat—

She hears Sebastian over the line, “you’re covered, Ellie, it’s okay,” and Carine appears at the end of the alley, gun raised, and the door literally kicks open as Marco exits, also with a gun raised, and he wraps an arm around her and yanks her back and she clings and doesn’t let go.

 

* * *

 

It’s all a blur until the debriefing, when she’s sitting in a chair with a jacket wrapped around her shoulders, and Carine says, “Sebastian, why did the feed cut out for two minutes? We’ve got time missing on the audio recording.”

Ellie jerks her head up and realizes that it’s not a shock blanket she’s wearing. It’s Marco’s leather jacket.

The man himself is standing behind his chair, leaning forward on it. “It’s my fault,” he says. “I asked him to cut the feed.”

“Why?” Carine’s voice rarely gets sharp. She prefers to rule with a soft touch. But the way she cocks her head slightly to the side speaks volumes about her displeasure with this.

“I needed a moment,” Marco says. His tone is equally quiet but the daring in it is clear. He might as well have thrown down a gauntlet.

His sister. She was a child when she was kidnapped but Ellie knows, they all know, that every kidnapping case, especially against children or young women, hits Marco as if it’s his sister all over again.

Ellie’s breath catches in her throat. He’s lying, lying for her, to cover for her. She was the one who lost control in there, and now Marco’s taking the blame.

Carine’s expression softens. “I understand. That was thoughtful of you, Sebastian.”

Sebastian is a terrible liar but he manages to keep a poker face long enough to nod at Carine before she turns away and Sebastian can shoot Marco the most accusing look known to man.

Ellie’s heartrate slows just a little bit, and she focuses back in on the debriefing before Carine finally dismisses them all. “Good work,” she tells Ellie, and Ellie can’t help but smile a little with pride.

Luke and Arabella congratulate her as well. Sebastian scoots his chair over to her.

“You’re gonna be careful, yeah?” he asks her quietly.

Marco’s making himself busy cleaning up the presentation, but he’s not fooling either of them. It’s painfully clear from the tense line of his back that he’s just waiting to catch Ellie alone.

“I know what I’m doing,” Ellie replies, kindly, because Sebastian is her friend and he means well.

Sebastian nods, stands, lays a hand on her head. “You did really well.”

“Thanks, Seb, you too.”

Then he leaves, and it’s just her and Marco.

Marco glances over at Sebastian’s retreating form as if to make sure he’s really gone, then turns and looks at her.

Huh. She’s never seen Marco with a deer in the headlights look before. It’s amusing. “He’s right. You did well.”

“Thank you.” She stands, holding onto the lapels of the jacket to keep it secured around her shoulders. It smells good. Like him. “It’s only because you were there.”

“You give others too much credit, Ellie.”

“No I mean that I was only able to do it because you were there.” She takes a deep breath. “Because I felt safe with you there.”

Marco looks pained, like she’d slapped him. “Ellie. Whatever happened… it can’t happen again. We’re coworkers. You’re… how old are you?”

Ellie raises an eyebrow. She suspects he really doesn’t want her to answer that question. “I’m of age and that’s probably all you need to know.”

Marco closes his eyes and she can see him forcing himself to inhale deeply. “Those were… unusual circumstances. We let it get to our heads and we got carried away and we can’t—”

“Can’t?” she asks. “Or won’t?”

Marco looks at her. “Ellie. Don’t—don’t make me play the bad guy here.”

“From where I’m standing, this can only be a problem if we let it be a problem. Neither of us is Luke, I trust us to keep this outside of the office and handle it like adults.” She hardly knows where this daring is coming from. It’s probably coming from the orgasm she had earlier, from the way he kissed her, from the way he yanked her to him and kept his gun on the perp, holding her like he’d never let go, from the way his jacket is now around her shoulders to keep her warm. “You want this. You can’t lie to me about that.”

She takes a few steps towards him, tilts her chin up. Makes herself soft, submissive. “Please,” she whispers.

Unlike before, in the club, Marco seems more reluctant to slip into the role. He looks possibly even tired, like this is a game and he’s a little tired of playing. “What do you want from me?”

He sounds anticipatory, confused, conflicted, aching, all at once. “I want—I want you to take me home, whenever it suits you, and I want you to tie me up and make me do whatever you say. I want you to tell me when I can and can’t come, I want you to discipline me if I don’t behave, I want you to touch me all over, I want whatever you can give me.” She raises her chin up a little. “Because I can take it. Whatever you dish out.”

Marco looks away, and that look crosses his face again, the one that says he’s probably going to be headed straight for confession tomorrow morning. She dares to take another step, to end up right in front of him, to put her hand on his chest and slide it slowly up to his shoulder. He’s like a statue.

“Take me home,” she whispers. “Use me, make me yours.”

Marco’s jaw ticks. He looks over at her, and oh fuck, his eyes are practically black. “Ground rules.”

“Ground rules.” Yes, that’s wise. A thrill turns her stomach over. They’re really doing this.

“Safe word?”

“Red.” Cliché, but it works.

Marco nods. “Any hard limits I should know about?”

“You can spank my ass but you can’t go inside it.”

He snorts at that, amused. “Fair enough.”

“I’m not a huge fan of a lot of pain. A little… but no knocking me around.”

Marco looks horrified at the very thought. “All right.” He looks over at the conference table, contemplating. “So if I told you… hands behind your back and bend over there…”

“Is that an order? It didn’t really sound like one.”

She’s asking for it, and she knows it. Marco takes her chin in his hand, forces her face up, up, to look him in the eye. A finger of his other hand trails slowly down her throat and she feels herself getting wet all over again. “You know what you’d look pretty with?”

“A collar?” she suggests, breathless.

Marco’s grip on her tightens momentarily. She can’t ever wear this underwear again, that’s for certain. “I was going to say a gag. But yes. If that’s something you want.”

“Yes,” she breathes. Either. Both.

Marco idly gets his fingers low enough to skim along the top of the club dress she’s still wearing, the one that just barely covers her breasts. She’s so turned on she’s not sure she can breathe properly. “You want an order?” he asks idly. Then his voice deepens, sharpens. “Stop being a brat, put your hands behind your back, and bend that pretty ass over the table.”

If it were possible for her to come just from a voice, she’s pretty sure she would have just then.

The “yes, sir” crosses her lips before she can second guess it. Marco looks starving, like he’s just barely holding himself back when she says it. So, she was right. He does like that.

She pulls away on shaking legs and turns around, clasping her hands behind her back, grabbing her own wrists, and bending over the conference table. She presses her cheek to the cool wood, and almost immediately feels a large, warm, steadying hand on her neck.

“Is this all right, then?” Marco murmurs.

“Yes, sir.”

“If your wrists were tied, would you like that?”

“Yes, sir.”

She feels his other hand slide down her back, over her ass, to her thigh, to the hem of her dress. He pushes it up, up, up, exposing her, and Ellie whines. Tries not to squirm.

“And if you were naughty… disobeyed me, sassed me, didn’t do as you were told…”

There’s a sharp, light smack to her ass and she moans.

“That’s acceptable?”

“ _Yes_.”

She gets another slap and she moans again, helpless, so wet she thinks she might stain the table. “Yes, what, princess?”

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry sir.”

Marco lets go of her neck to gently brush his fingers through her hair. “If I tied you to the bed, so that I could do what I wanted to you, would you like that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hands and feet?”

“Yes, sir.”

The hand on her ass slides further down, grips her thigh, spreads her legs… slides between them…

Ellie’s shaking, she’s so unbearably turned on, and she’s going to have to go in tomorrow and beg Sebastian for access to the CCTV to delete this but right now she doesn’t care, all she cares about is that Marco is dragging a finger along her folds, over her underwear, back and forth, and her knees are turning to jelly.

“If I told you, I’m going to touch you as much as I want, but you can’t come until I say, would you wait for me?”

“Yes, sir. As long as you want—”

His finger finds her clit, rubbing against it, and Ellie gives a little shriek in surprise.

“What if I wanted you to come until you thought you couldn’t? What if I asked you to be a good girl and give me one more?”

“I—I’d be g-good for you, sir.” She can barely get the words out, he’s got two fingers now and he’s not stopping, oh God oh God he’s not stopping. She grips her wrists so hard she can feel her nails digging in, knows she might have marks tomorrow.

“Do you like toys?” Marco asks this like he’s wondering how she takes her eggs, and he’s still touching her, oh God he’s still touching her—

His hand goes back to her neck, keeping her pinned, and his fingers leave her to smack her ass again. She cries out. “Answer the question, Ellie.”

“Yes, yes sir.” She does, really, really does like toys. The idea of him sliding a vibrator into her right now has her seeing stars.

Marco’s hand rubs lightly over her ass, soothing her, and then pushes up… and underneath her underwear, his fingers now directly stroking her silky, wet skin.

Ellie squirms helplessly, whimpering. Will he get inside her? She wants him to. She wants him to fuck her—fingers, cock, tongue, whatever he wants to give her.

“And if I told you to get on your knees, open that pretty pink mouth of yours…”

She’s panting, she can’t breathe properly, he’s rubbing her clit again and starting to work the tip of his finger inside of her and she can’t, oh God she can’t even breathe it feels so good, so fucking good, his hand at her neck grounding her so she doesn’t fly into a million pieces. “Yes, please, I—I’d want that.”

She can’t see him, she wants to see him, but she can hear his labored breathing and his fingers shake where he’s pinning her neck down. She can imagine how hard he is, how much he must want to get inside of her, and her eyes nearly roll back into her head.

Marco bends down, kisses her cheek, and it’s so fond and soft that her heart skips a beat. He’s still stroking her, not too fast, but steady, working her apart with each touch of her clit, each curl of his fingers inside her. “So if I say I’m going to make you come, and then I’m going to take you home, and I’m going to tie you to the bed and fuck you and you can’t come until I tell you… you would say…”

“Ye—es.” The word is broken in half, a moan and a whisper all at once. “Yes, please, sir.”

His lips are right at her ear. “Then why don’t you be a good girl and come for me.”

Her cry is strangled in her throat as she fucks herself against his hand, as she shudders and shakes and stains the goddamn conference table, as his hands hold her steady and she falls completely apart.

Marco gently brushes her hair out of her sweaty face, pets her as she comes down from her high, rearranges her clothes, fetches tissues and water. She probably should have made sure beforehand that he knew about aftercare but that seems a moot point now as he softly, diligently takes care of her.

Her legs wobble a little as she pushes herself back up to standing. Marco’s there at once, his hands at her hips, and she leans back into him because wow, she really can’t stand on her own at the moment.

She cranes her face upward, breathing him in. She can feel him against her thigh, through his jeans, and his eyes are like a wolf’s, dark and predatory and one hundred and ten percent fixed on her.

“Well?” she whispers. She reaches up, traces the line of his jaw with her finger. “Please, sir, take me home.”

Marco’s hands tighten at her hips and she feels another shiver of hot anticipation.

The night, she realizes, is far from over.

 

* * *

 

Technically she could take her own car to Marco’s place, but she doesn’t want to give him another opportunity to be unfortunately noble and decide that he’s too damaged, too rough, too whatever for her. She may be young but she’s enough of an adult to know what she’s getting into here. She’s not asking for anything from him and if this only ever stayed a coworkers-with-benefits relationship then she’s fine with that. Lord knows Marco’s in no place to offer her everything she would need in a relationship and she can’t really offer him anything he needs either—nobody can, unless she somehow finds his sister for him. Until that ghost is laid to rest… and maybe that ghost never will be, and Ellie’s okay with that. She’s looking for one very simple thing right now.

Taking care of the goddamn sexual tension.

They drive for a few minutes, and then Marco pulls into what is definitely not a collection of flats or a hotel building but a convenience store.

“Your side job?” she asks.

Marco gives her a look that tells her she’ll be paying for that remark later. She shivers. “I don’t have any supplies,” he admits, opening the driver’s door. “I don’t make a habit of having visitors.”

She waits politely in the car instead of trailing after him, because that would be a little too obvious for her tastes and she doesn’t fancy the man behind the till giving Marco the side eye for buying condoms and lube with this innocent-faced cherub in tow (she knows she’s pretty but she also knows she’s got round cheeks, thanks).

Marco slides back into the seat a few moments later, passing her the bag. Ellie inspects the merchandise without a word as he starts the car.

“I never hated you.”

She pauses in her happy assessment of the condom size chosen (yes, she has a thing for larger sizes, no, she is not going to feel bad about it) and looks up. “What?”

“Earlier, you said that you thought I hated you.” Marco looks like he’d rather jump into a swimming pool full of piranhas than continue this conversation but is doing it anyway out of a sense of honesty. “I never…” He blows out a frustrated breath. “I meant it when I said that I thought your compassion would make you a great investigator. It will. I think you might even be better than I am, someday. You’ve got a mind like a steel trap.

“I just want you to be careful. This work… it ruins soft hearts like yours. You have to protect it. Don’t let it… don’t let yourself become bitter. From what I’ve seen so far it’s always the good people who break and I don’t want that for you.”

It’s possibly the kindest thing he’s ever said to her. Ellie has to look away before she does something stupid like cry a little. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t want you thinking it was just—you’re a good person, Ellie. And an excellent researcher. I am…” Marco’s mouth twists like he’s swallowing some choice swear words, in either Italian or English. “Your personality plays a part in my attraction to you. I wouldn’t want you to think I was secretly disliking you as a person and just wanting what you looked like.”

“You may be one of the most abrasive people I’ve ever met,” she informs him, looking back over at him. “But you’re also the best in your field. And you care so much. And you look after me.” She bites her lip to try and hide her smile. “And I think I might like abrasive.”

“I should be easier on you,” Marco acknowledges.

“Save the discipline for the bedroom?”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

“If you’re saying this is a one-time thing…”

“Do you want it to be?”

He glances over at her as he turns the corner and pulls up along a side street, and Ellie’s heart races. “No,” she admits in a whisper.

Marco puts the car into park and cuts the engine. “Then neither do I.”

He gently takes her arm to lead her inside and up the elevator. The flat he takes her to is still a bit bare. There’s a small table and a couple folding chairs and a TV and a recliner, and then in the bedroom there’s just the bed from IKEA and an open duffel bag in the closet with a pair of jeans and some workout gear falling out of it.

She doesn’t tease him about the décor. She’s shocked he’s even letting her into his space. He had a house, not so long ago. She’s not even sure if he’s sold it, or how the divorce proceedings are going. Carine knows something about it but probably only what Marco’s had to tell her.

Instead of possibly poking at fresh wounds, Ellie shucks off her coat, lets Marco hang it up, because he’s oddly gentlemanlike in his own way.

She walks over to the bed and puts the supplies down next to it, within easy reach, as Marco goes over to the duffel and unzips an inner pocket.

He pulls out a set of silky black ties and Ellie’s mouth goes completely dry.

“I thought it was a bit optimistic to bring these,” Marco notes. He runs the fabric over his fingers and Ellie just about chokes on air. She’s about to get tied down. She’s about to get fucked.

She wants it so badly she fears she might jump out of her own skin.

Marco’s gaze drags slowly over her and she can almost feel his touch on her skin. “You’re sure you want this?”

Ellie nods, not trusting herself to speak.

Marco indicates the door. “I’m going to count down from five. Then I’m locking this door. Anything that’s in this room after that belongs to me.” He pauses. “Safe word excepted, of course.”

She nods.

“So if you change your mind, you can walk out. But once I get to one, you’re mine.”

Oh, yes, please.

Marco starts counting down, giving a good pause in between each number. “Five.”

It’s sweet of him to give her yet another chance to back out, but she’s made her decision. She made it long before he ever touched her, ever kissed her.

“Four.”

She knows that he won’t hurt her and she knows that she can stop it at any time with a single word. That’s good enough for her.

“Three.”

Marco’s devouring her with his gaze and it takes everything in her not to just beg him to get on with it, to fuck her, _please_. She’s already come twice tonight but neither one has been what she really wanted, none of them have scratched the itch deep enough, and she wants, she _wants_.

“Two.”

Marco walks over to the door and takes the handle. “One.”

He closes the door and flips the lock.

It’s not like there’s a key. She could just walk over and flip the lock herself if she felt like getting out. But the soft _click_ of the latch has her skin buzzing. It’s the game of it that thrills her.

Marco looks over at her, and for a split second she thinks he’ll just tackle her onto the bed and fuck her rough and hard, fast, that he might not have any more patience left in him. But then he growls out, “Are you going to be a good girl today?”

She nods. She thrills at the idea of maybe pushing his buttons at work all day, at him taking her across his knee in turn for it, but not this time.

Marco leans back against the doorway, nodding at her. “Then strip.”

She does so with shaking fingers, glad she’s wearing this stupid skintight club dress instead of her usual suits and blouses, pushing the fabric down until it’s off and practically kicking off her underwear.

“Get onto the middle of the bed.” Marco moves towards her as he gives the order and Ellie scrambles to obey, as Marco kneels on the bed with one leg and holds his hand out.

She places her hands in his, never breaking eye contact. She’s breathing hard and fast like she’s just run a race. Anticipation is making her heart thunder at breakneck speed in her chest.

Marco takes her wrists and guides them up over her head. She feels the soft fabric slinking over her skin, sliding around and around, until she feels a tug and knows her wrists have been secured.

“Test those for me,” Marco orders softly.

She tugs on the restraints. With a little bit of time and determination she’s ninety percent sure she could get out of them. It’s that ten percent of wondering that she can’t shut off that adds the thrill.

“You’re overdressed,” she notes. She didn’t plan for it to come out as a whisper, but here they are.

“Maybe I’ll fuck you just like this,” he replies.

She can literally feel herself getting wetter at the thought of that and Marco smirks at her, like he said that because he knew what she’d think of it.

He pulls back, though, and strips off his shirt, exposing the tight lines of corded muscle that he’s been hiding this whole time. Ellie’s mouth goes dry all over again. She wants her mouth all over that. She can already hear him in her mind, ordering her to lick, to suck, and oh, God, she hopes she gets her chance soon.

Right now, though, Marco catches her ankle with his hand and stretches her leg out, his thumb stroking the thin, vulnerable skin. “Should’ve gotten a bed with taller posts,” he mutters, and Ellie laughs as she realizes he’s literally contemplating the logistics of tying her legs to a dumbass IKEA bed.

Marco shoots her a look that’s both amused and annoyed at his own amusement, and he taps the inside of her ankle in thought. “We could change plans,” he says, clearly thinking out loud. His voice is soft, rough, contemplative. “Tie your legs together… slide a vibrator inside, see how many times you can come for me.”

Tied down, unable to move while Marco watches her come over and over again, until she’s sobbing, until she’s crying with how it’s too much… she wants that, very much so, but more than anything else right now— “May I ask for something, sir?”

Marco blinks, startled, then nods.

“I won’t move,” she promises. “I want you inside me.”

She hadn’t thought it was possible for Marco’s eyes to get darker but they’re like two black holes now as he swallows thickly. “I suppose I can grant that. If you ask the right way.”

“What way, sir?” Soon she’ll know everything, she’ll know what he wants from her with just the slightest of suggestions, but they’re still learning the ways of each other.

Marco’s eyes flash. “Beg.”

She swallows. She can do that. She’s _happy_ to do that. “Please, please, please sir, please, I want you to fuck me, I want you inside me, please, I’ll be so good for you, _please_.”

Marco bends down, kisses the inside of her knee, and then gently pushes her legs wide. “Since you asked so nicely.”

He bends down, peers under the bed, then nods to himself, apparently confirming something. Then he winds the tie around her ankle and ducks it under the bed, wrapping it around… oh, around the leg of the bed.

Clever.

She won’t get as much leeway in leg movement and it does spread her a little wider than she’d normally have it, but she has little doubt Marco will make the slight ache worth it and she likes the feeling of being completely at his mercy like this.

Also the idea of Marco massaging her legs afterwards is a very nice mental image.

He walks around the bed and secures her other ankle the same way. “How is it?”

She tests the hold—she can barely tug her legs in an inch. “Not too tight. Can’t move much but it won’t hurt me.”

“If it starts to ache too much, say ‘yellow’ so I can pause and then tell me to untie your legs.”

She nods. “Yes, sir.”

His hand slides up her leg, up her side, skimming his fingers along her stomach. Ellie can hardly breathe. Marco flattens his palm against her stomach. “Inhale.”

She does so, deeply, then exhales slowly. Marco nods. “Good.”

Then he moves his forearm over her stomach, keeping her pinned down even more—as if she needed the help—and then he starts kissing along her thighs.

She realizes what he’s doing and a moan shoots out, her thighs tensing instinctively but she can’t move, she can only shudder as Marco sucks a bruise into the soft skin and then sets his mouth on her folds. She honestly doesn’t know which is turning her on more: the sensation itself or the view, the dark head of hair and the bare, broad shoulders, the thick, muscled arm holding her down as Marco plants his other hand on her thigh and scrapes his rough cheek along her sensitive skin.

After coming twice already tonight there is no way she’s going to last very long and she shivers uncontrollably as he draws his tongue through her, just the tip of his tongue flicking at her clit, teasing her. It feels so good, so, so good, she can feel it coiling tight in her gut and she can’t move she can only take it, he’s touching her like he’s been thinking about this for months and maybe he has, maybe—oh God whatever reason his wife had left him it hadn’t been because he’d been lazy in the sack, oh _fuck_ —

Marco pulls away, looking absolutely gleeful, leaving her right on the edge. Ellie’s panting, struggling to get her breath back. “Not yet,” he orders lightly. He gently pets her stomach. “You’re so very close, aren’t you princess?”

She inhales, tries to speak, can’t get her tongue to work. Marco lightly bites her and she moans. “Yes, yes, ‘m close…”

He licks at her clit. Ellie cries out, the small touch nothing short of an electric shock. “You’re like a feast, all laid out for me like this,” Marco muses, draping himself over one of her thighs and reaching down to grab the lube. He makes sure Ellie can see as he slicks his fingers up and she mewls the sound escaping her before she can stop it.

“You think you can be good and wait?” he asks casually.

It’s been a long time since she’s been with anyone, and she’s fantasized about doing this with him, being laid out like this and at his mercy, for months now. “I—I don’t know, sir.”

Marco considers that, and it looks like he’s genuinely weighing the options, like he’s actually considering taking it easy on her.

She doesn’t want him to take it easy on her.

“I can,” she amends. “I’ll be good, I’ll be so good for you.”

Marco draws a finger down through her folds and slowly twists it into her. She just about chokes on her own spit. “And why will you be good for me?”

“Because—because—” Again, they’re just starting this out, so she’s not sure what the right answer is.

Then she remembers what he said before he’d closed the door.

“Because I’m in this room, so I’m yours.”

Marco’s eyes gleam like a cat’s. “Mm, very good.”

He adds a second finger, corkscrewing them, and fuck, she’s so wet she’s dripping with it. He’s got large hands, with long, dexterous fingers and she can’t help but wonder if maybe down the line… the thought has her moaning all over again.

“Say that again for me.”

She feels like she might pass out, she’s so turned on and so close and she wants it so, so badly. “I’m yours.”

“Good girl.” Marco props himself up, scissors his fingers inside of her to open her, stretch her, as his other hand drifts up her body, cups her breast. His thumb swipes over the nipple, then pinches slightly, and she feels like she’s shaking apart as another bolt strikes through her. He gets his mouth on her other breast and oh—oh fuck, she doesn’t know how she’s going to wait, she doesn’t know, she doesn’t _know_ —

Marco pulls away from her breast, his fingers still working inside her, and his free hand moves up to linger against her throat. “In here you’re my princess. My toy. My pet.” His thumb strokes the hollow of her throat. “Well. Maybe not quite yet. We’ll have to get a collar for that pretty neck.”

She swallows against the light press of his fingers, wanting it so badly her vision is blurring. “Yes, please, I want that,” she whispers, her voice hoarse like she’s been yelling.

Marco kisses her then, gently, and she can feel the praise in the press of his mouth even if he doesn’t say it out loud. His fingers draw out of her but he keeps kissing her, until she’s pressing into it, eager, her mouth open and sucking on the tongue he slides against hers. Like she’d suck on his cock if he’d let her, as long as he wanted, and she hopes he will let her another night, but right now she’s more than happy to settle for getting stubble burn all over her face because he can’t seem to stop kissing her now that he’s started.

He pulls back, and she sees he’s grabbed a condom at some point while they were making out, and just about loses her mind as he unzips his pants. His chest is starting to shine a little with sweat and she hums contentedly at the view.

Marco gives her an _I heard that_ look, then shimmies out of his pants without much fanfare. It’s been clear to her from the beginning that Marco is the sort of person who knows what he looks like but doesn’t care all that much to hear others fawning over it. Seeing how much attention he’s been lavishing on her, though, she thinks she’s more than justified in doing a little appreciation herself.

“You still good?” he asks her, even as he gets into position.

She nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Not until I say, understand, princess?”

She can already tell that’s going to be his name for her in this aspect of their relationship, something to differentiate from work or from when they all go out to the pub. _Ellie_ is for the rest of their lives. _Princess_ and perhaps sometimes _brat_ are for this and this alone.

Ellie feels herself smiling and fights down her blush. “Yes, sir.”

A grin flickers at the corner of his mouth and then he’s using two fingers to part her and sliding inside and for a wild second she can’t breathe. It’s been a while—a long while—since she even had regular vanilla sex and she has to force herself to inhale, exhale, soak up the feeling of something large and hot inside of her, forcing her open.

Marco slowly kisses along her stomach, pays quite a lot of attention to her breasts, scrapes his teeth along her collarbone but doesn’t leave a mark she won’t be able to explain in the morning. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Her legs ache just a little, but not enough for her to ask him to undo the ties. “I’m—I’m ready, sir,” she tells him, surprised at how breathless she sounds.

Marco looks up and raises an eyebrow at her. “Ready for what?”

Holy fuck. She swallows. “For you to fuck me, sir.”

He kisses the swell of her breast and rolls his hips slowly, experimentally.

The sensations travel up through her like a ripple, a wave, and her head falls back as she makes an obscene noise. Marco does it again, a little harder this time, then again without a pause, and she sobs out _yes_ and then there’s no stopping at all. It’s wave after wave after wave and she knows she’s saying his name, and probably a lot of damning, praising things he’ll tease her for later, but she doesn’t care—not when he’s fucking into her like she’s been dreaming about in the shower for God knows how many weeks.

She wishes she could touch him, dig her nails into his shoulders, wrap a leg around his waist, but she can’t and the restraint of that only makes it all so much hotter and she has to struggle to keep it all in, struggle to hold back. He said to wait and she will, she wants to be good, she likes to push the limit sometimes but she also wants so badly to be good…

Marco starts to lose his rhythm, that slick knife edge growing sharper for both of them, and she feels him shift and shift until she literally screams, there there _there_ , that spot right there oh God right there just like that oh _God_ —she’s babbling but she doesn’t care, not when he’s hitting that spot over and over—

He’s going faster now, harder, losing control, just taking what he wants from her and she loves that feeling, that slightly used feeling, because she knows she’s given him permission and knows he’ll take care of her when it’s over but for now, for _now_ …

Marco’s mouth is right up against her ear again, like it was before. “Go ahead,” he whispers. “Let go for me, _bella_.”

It rips through her and she really is going to ache from the way she tugs at the restraints, her hips jerking helplessly, a desperate noise flying out of her as she flies up and sinks down simultaneously, as she gives herself over and everything goes white and blissfully blank and there’s no thoughts, no nothing, just pleasure, sensation, and she shudders apart.

Marco unties her—legs first, then wrists—even as she’s still shaking with aftershocks. He does in fact massage her legs a little, making sure all the circulation is still there. She barely even notices. She's riding the high, thrilling with it, little gasps escaping her. Oh, fuck, they are definitely doing that again. She feels limp, her limbs heavy, her eyes unfocused. It's amazing.

Marco curls one arm underneath her so that she’s cradled against his chest and tips a water bottle to her mouth, pulling it back when she gets greedy and tries to gulp it down.

She glares at him for it. He just smirks in return. The teasing _I have to take good care of you, princess_ is written on his face in neon lights.

Ellie manages to intensify her glare. “Don’t you dare say it.”

Marco shrugs innocently. “Say what?”

She just takes the bottle from him and drinks the rest of it in slow sips. She tries to help clean up, after, but Marco won’t have it. “Can you even walk?” he points out when he makes a trip to the bathroom to get a washcloth.

Ellie flips him off.

While he’s grabbing some sweatpants, she swings her legs over the side of the bed. What time is it, even? Can she get a cab at this hour?

A t-shirt lands on her face. She grabs it instinctively, staring.

“For sleep,” Marco says, shrugging. His cheeks are pink.

“You want me to stay over?” she asks.

She… hadn’t expected that, honestly. Not that she’s complaining. She’d much rather just collapse here and sleep with a lovely human space heater than trudge back home at ass o’clock in the morning.

“Only if you want to.”

Marco looks terribly hopeful, and for the first time she sees him genuinely unsure. She smiles to reassure him. “I’d like to, yes.” Then she adds, just to be cheeky, “Sir.”

He rolls his eyes and she puts the t-shirt on. It smells like him. “You’re going to be a handful,” he says, pulling the sweatpants on and climbing into bed with her.

“Good thing you’ve got large hands, then,” she replies, claiming his chest as her pillow once he settles.

She feels him snort. “Go to sleep.”

He’s warm, and solid beneath her, and he drapes an arm over her waist, and he really does smell nice and she’s had a long day and an even longer night, and she drops off to sleep almost at once.

And in the morning, nobody even suspects a thing.


End file.
